


Smug

by helens78



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Dom/sub, Emotional Manipulation, Humiliation, M/M, Roleplay, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2003-08-14
Updated: 2003-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:03:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karl thinks he can own both Sean <em>and</em> Viggo, but it's possible his eyes are bigger than his... capacity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Karl's Just A Wee Bit Smug These Days

Karl is just a wee bit smug these days.

He's got the King of Gondor wrapped around his fist. Who wouldn't be smug?

...not literally. Well, not right _now_. He _has_ had Viggo that way, of course. And will again, as soon as Viggo's recovered enough for it. Viggo hasn't begged for it nearly enough yet, but he will.

Karl's fingers stroke through the hair at the nape of Viggo's neck, fingernails scratching down the skin there. He leans over and presses his lips to Viggo's ear. "I'm going to take you home and fuck your throat 'til you choke on it," he murmurs. "Make you choke, make your eyes water, and then jerk myself off onto your face and lick it off."

"Nnn." Viggo shifts, shoulders twitching. His hands are on the table where Karl can see them, which is good; Viggo got caught jerking off on his own _once_ since all this started, and doing it again would be a very bad idea.

"Look around. Look at them. You ever wonder what they do while we're not watching?"

Viggo's eyes flick to the rest of the Fellowship. He knows some things, but not everything. He knows Dom and Billy have a friendly fuck-buddy relationship, but that they rarely go home together; he knows Orli and Liv have been screwing like teenagers in the backseats of practically every car on the set (he thinks they may have decided it was a challenge).

His eyes get stuck on Sean, and he forcefully moves them over to David.

Karl's hand tightens in Viggo's hair. "You don't look at him that way," he growls.

"I wasn't--"

"Oh, yes, you were."

"But I wouldn't--"

"Oh, yes, you would. You almost _did_ before I got to you." Karl shakes Viggo's head a little roughly. "Sean once told me he just about got your pants off one night when you were both drunk off your asses. Says he would have sucked the skin off you if he'd had half a chance." Karl has to lean in close to hear the tiny, almost-inaudible whimper coming from Viggo at that thought. "Bet you would have liked that. Bet you'd have given a lot to fuck him."

"It doesn't matter."

"Sure it does." Karl lets up on Viggo's hair. "Because it gives me all kinds of beautiful fucking ideas. What would you do for me if I let you fuck him?"

Viggo takes in a breath and looks down at his hands. "Anything," he murmurs.

"Fuck that. You _already_ give me 'anything'. Try harder."

"I don't..." Viggo is at a loss. "What would you want?"

"To watch."


	2. Negotiations With Sean

Sean's in his kitchen making himself a sandwich. Karl invited himself over without bothering to tell Sean about it, and let himself in through the front door, also without bothering to tell Sean about it. "Hey," he says, taking in Sean's easy posture at the counter.

Sean glances up at Karl, somehow unsurprised by his presence. Karl's been spending a lot of time checking him out lately; Sean figured that sooner or later Karl would be around to collect on whatever he thinks Sean's eyes have been promising. "Hey," Sean returns.

There's really no point in beating around the bush, so Karl simply comes out and says it. "Viggo wants to fuck you, and I'm half-inclined to let him. What do you think?"

Sean turns around and leans back against the counter. "That's it?" Sean asks. "No catch? No rules?"

"Didn't say that," Karl smirks, shaking his head. "Just wanted to feel you out over the idea before my boy got himself worked into a frenzy for it."

Now there's something Sean didn't quite expect -- those two words. _My boy._ It's not that Sean hadn't caught on -- Karl and Viggo haven't been making a secret of their arrangement -- but the fact that Karl can be so open about it is impressive. Sean nods. "I'd like to fuck him," he admits easily. "What do I have to give you to get him?"

"Everything," Karl says simply.

Sean waits a few seconds, as if expecting to hear the rest of that statement. When nothing's forthcoming, he shrugs lightly. "Tall order," he says. "What are you asking for?"

"You," Karl says. "It's simple. I want to have you under my command. The way I have Viggo. I want both of you. Whenever I want. However I want. All the fucking time."

"You've lost it," Sean says, shaking his head. "What makes you think fucking Viggo would be worth giving you that much?"

"Don't play coy." Karl steps forward and pins Sean between his body and the counter. "It's not just fucking Viggo. It's you. You want this."

Sean's mouth has gone uncomfortably dry; he tries to swallow and can't. "Want what?" he asks.

Stalling. Karl can handle that. He reaches between them and wraps his hand around Sean's cock. "You want someone who can take the edge off," he murmurs. "Someone strong enough to mean it's OK that you'd want to give in. Give over. Completely."

Sean lets out a breath. Karl isn't wrong. Karl's hand does feel strong on his cock; Sean can feel the certainty, the firm grip, and the iron sense of control radiating from Karl. Karl is serious, completely, and Sean realizes, very suddenly, that he's glad for it. Too many people have been playing with him lately. He wants something dark. Urgent. Serious. Heavy.

He wants Karl. Viggo is, at this point, a fringe benefit.

Sean nods, breath catching in his chest. "All right. A few conditions."

"What makes you think you get to name conditions?" Karl asks. He unzips Sean's pants and slides his hand inside, stroking Sean through his briefs now. "This is my game. My play. You don't get shit unless I say you do."

The stroke is good, but no longer startling. Sean lets his lips curl back into a smirk. He's more than ten years older than Karl; he's been around the block. He's in absolutely no danger of losing his control. Not yet. He doesn't quite have the ability to keep his voice steady -- the aching newness of Karl is enough to take that much way from him -- but he can still get the words out, which has to count for something.

"First. No more fucking around with anyone else. You, me, Viggo. That's it."

"Now who's giving tall orders?" Karl asks. His grip tightens: not enough to be painful, but enough to let Sean know who's about to be in charge.

"You'll own me. You'll own Viggo. That ought to be enough for anyone." Sean rocks his hips forward into Karl's touch. "More," he pants. "Harder."

Karl is tempted to back off entirely until he realizes that's exactly what Sean wants. He grins instead, a little wolfishly, and pushes his hand through the flap of Sean's briefs and touches bare flesh. "There's your 'more'. Don't think you can get much harder."

"I fucking mean it," Sean pants. "The three of us and that's it, or I don't come in."

"You're really willing to give everything else up? You've never even fucked me. Let alone my boy. Maybe we won't be able to give you what you need. Then you'd be stuck with us." Karl's hand is a vulgar little taunt that says he doesn't believe any of that for a second, but wants to know what Sean would do if it were true.

"You let me worry about that," Sean growls. "That's just _one_ condition," he continues. "Any point in going on to number two, or should we stop right now?"

"We're not stopping until your come is all over my hand and you're on your knees licking it up," Karl growls. "Give me condition number fucking two, then."

"You don't damage either of us in a way we can't recover from."

Karl's steady pace on Sean's cock falters for half a second. ''That's not how I operate," he says. ''But it's also overstepping your place. You can make demands for yourself. I'm willing to put up with that--" and his grip tightens as punctuation-- "even though it's fucking cheeky, Bean. But you don't get to make demands for Viggo."

"Somebody's got to look after him," Sean says; his voice is almost coming out as a keening cry now. He still isn't in any danger of coming, but he's in a hell of a lot of danger of starting to beg. "He doesn't know what the hell he got into with you."

"Christ, that's sweet," Karl murmurs. "All right. You got a door number three, or are we done with your fucking conditions?"

There was a door number three. There was definitely a door number three. But Sean doesn't know what it was, now, and Karl's hand on his cock is finally getting past all his defenses. "No," he says, finally, "no, no door number three." He's going to regret that, and he knows it. This is going to be a problem. But he can't help it. "Karl, please," he says, voice cracking at the edges, "please, I want to come."

"I already told you how it's going to happen," Karl smirks. "You're going to come all over my hand, and then you're going to kneel for me and lick it up. And you're going to be very fucking grateful. You got that?"

"Yes," Sean pants, "yes, please, need to come, now, please..."

"Do it," Karl growls. "Fucking do it now, Sean."

Sean nods, and with a soft cry and a panted, almost painful groan, he comes all over Karl's hand, collapsing heavily against the counter when it's done. He closes his eyes, trying hard to recover. Long, harsh, rasped breaths help, and Karl is kind enough to give him several of them before pulling his hand away.

Karl holds his hand up in front of Sean's face and grins. "Made a fucking mess, Sean," he says. "You know what's coming next. Do it."

Sean nods and goes to his knees, wincing at the unfamiliar movement. He looks up at Karl and nods, and Karl puts his hand within easy reach. Sean takes small, grateful licks, tiny ones that take barely a drop off Karl's hands at a time.

Karl's expression is more smug than ever, but there's an underlying sense of a few different odd feelings: gratitude, that he's getting Sean under him, under circumstances that are not how he ever imagined them; surprise, that Sean is as impressive as he is -- Sean must have _years_ of experience at this under his belt to have held off from coming for as long as he did; greedy, naked anticipation.

 _Both of them,_ Karl thinks, grinning as his hand is finally clean.

"Got a few conditions of my own," Karl says.

"Yes, Sir," Sean whispers, nuzzling against Karl's hand.

And _fuck_ , that just takes Karl's breath away. "Oh, I like that," he murmurs. "Like that a lot. If it's just us, or we're out of earshot, yeah. Sir."

"Yes, Sir."

Karl's cock jumps at that. Then again, it was perky to begin with, after this conversation and Sean's tongue laving all over his skin. "There's one of my conditions," he says, although he was making that up as he went. "Here's another one. You don't talk to Vig about any of this. He doesn't know he's getting you yet, and he doesn't know what I was going to ask for in exchange. It's for me to tell him all that. Clear?"

"Quite, Sir," Sean says. He straightens his posture minutely and looks up at Karl, smiling lightly.

"Good. Good." Karl nods. "Let me be a little more specific here. I don't want you talking to Vig at all unless I say it's all right. I don't want you touching him until I say you can."

"No, Sir; he's yours, Sir, and I understand that, Sir." Sean really is slipping into this role easily; he wonders if perhaps he ought to be concerned about that, and decides he doesn't. This might have been unexpected, but that doesn't make it out of his league or anything he didn't want. It's been a long time since he's played it this way, but Karl was right -- Sean wanted someone strong enough to take him down. Sean needed someone who'd make it all right for him to want to give over this way.

Hearing _Sir_ out of Sean is going to leave Karl breathless for a while; he finally just resigns himself to that with a smirk. "Good boy," he says, and that, too, sends a flare of pleased lust up his spine. "There's going to be more, when I think of it. This is all just the beginning. But for now: you don't touch him without my say. You don't touch yourself or come without my say. You're the one who said everyone else was off-limits, so that leaves me." Karl flashes Sean a grin. "Me, you can have anytime, provided you beg enough to convince me."

Karl's not the only one left breathless. Sean nods at that. "Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir."

"Good." Karl cups his cock in one hand and thrusts his hips forward slightly, lewdly, and slips his tongue out across his lips. "You've got a good tongue, Sean," he murmurs. "Want to put it to another use?"

"God. Yes, Sir," Sean says. He's not sure when the desire to get Karl off became so strong -- maybe it's the agreement. The kneeling. Being put back on his knees for the first time in ages. He nods again. "Please let me suck you off, Sir," he says.

"No," Karl murmurs. "Haven't earned it yet." He crouches down in front of Sean and draws his hand -- still damp from Sean's tongue -- through Sean's short hair. "Here's what's going to happen. I'm going to go home and fuck my boy into the floor. And I'm not going to let him come from it. Instead, I'm going to tell him that I've got you ready and waiting for him to fuck -- and you _will_ be ready when he gets here, Sean." Karl grins. "Then I'm going to tell him if he wants to come, he can walk his ass over here and fuck you. I think he'll run. I think he'll give you the hardest fuck of your life."

Sean moans at that; he can't help it. Karl presses his lips to Sean's for a bare moment, then flicks his tongue out and licks in tiny, small motions, an echo of Sean's, up the side of Sean's jaw. When he reaches Sean's ear, he nibbles gently on Sean's earlobe. "When he leaves, I'll call you, and I'll tell you how to get ready for him. You'll definitely need to lube up and get a rubber ready for him; he's probably not going to be thinking very clearly by the time he gets here. How you're positioned -- that I'll decide when I see how he walks out of my house." Karl grins. "How does that sound, Sean?" he whispers, nibbling on Sean's earlobe again for emphasis.

Sean is breathing heavily. He nods against Karl's cheek. "Yes, please, Sir," Sean whispers, "I want you to order your boy to come fuck me."

"Believe me," Karl grins, "I'll be doing a hell of a lot more than that." He brings his hand up and squeezes the back of Sean's neck, tight enough to be scary. "Good to have you in my harem, Sean."

"I'm..." Sean closes his eyes; it takes a hell of a lot of strength to force out the next words. He needs them. Karl needs them. He has to get them out. "I'm grateful to be yours, Sir."

"Good boy." Karl kisses the soft spot just under the hinge of Sean's jaw. "Have a good night, Sean."

Karl gets to his feet and walks out of Sean's house. Sean stays on his knees on the floor for quite a while after he's gone, considering the vast difference between the past and the present moment, and the potential in the future.


	3. Setting Viggo Up

Karl walks back into his house, grinning widely. "Vig?" he calls out.

Viggo has been waiting all afternoon to have Karl back. He comes out of the back room -- the space Karl gave him to do the things he needs to keep himself sane -- with ink-stained hands. "Hi," he says. His grin is a little tentative -- this whole thing is still new to him, and he's never quite sure if he should kneel or greet Karl with a hug or offer him an immediate greeting blowjob -- but it's sincere.

The sincerity is plenty for Karl. "Go get in bed," he says. "Hands and knees, naked."

Viggo nods, twice, a little jerkily, and lopes off to the bedroom. Karl has to restrain a smirk that nearly makes him dizzy. This is going to be _fantastic_. Viggo's going to go nuts. Karl grins and gives Viggo several seconds before joining him.

Viggo followed Karl's instructions to the letter: no more, no less. He's naked and on all fours on the bed, but he's done nothing else to prepare. He's not lubed, he's not in restraints of any kind -- no cock ring for once -- and he's got his eyes open. His cock is hard, and it's bobbing between his legs with every breath.

Karl runs a hand up Viggo's hip and digs his fingers into the skin, hard. "You look so fucking good like this," he murmurs. "I'm going to fuck you. Hard. I don't want you coming. You got it?"

"Yes," Viggo whispers. "Yes, please, Karl."

Karl reaches over to the nightstand and finds lube and a condom; he tosses both on the bed beside Viggo's right hand. He undresses quickly and stands within easy reach. "Condom on me," he says, "then lube me up. It's all you're getting, so feel free to be generous." He smirks again -- _God, my face is going to stick this way_ \-- and waits for Viggo to comply.

If there's anything one can say about Viggo, it's that he's eager. He puts the condom on Karl and squeezes out a generous amount of lube, coating Karl's cock with it and making long, fast, rough strokes. The kind Karl adores. He's intently focused, and grins at Karl after a few of those strokes. "I'm ready," he says.

"You aren't even fucking close to ready," Karl grins, but he climbs up on the bed and grips Viggo's hips anyway. "Tell me one reason I should fuck you right now."

"To see if I'm learning anything?" Viggo asks. There is a definite hint of a smirk in his voice.

Karl shakes his head. "You're learning too fucking fast," he grins, "but that's going to come in handy." He puts a hand on the small of Viggo's back and presses in, hard, slow. "Nice," he compliments. "Feels good." He feels Viggo tense, the pulse of tightening muscles, and hisses in a breath. "Damn," he murmurs. Viggo _is_ learning fast. Karl fists a hand in Viggo's hair -- a very tight grip right at his scalp -- and leans forward slightly. "You're not gonna come this way," he murmurs. "This isn't how you're going to do it. This is for me."

"Oh -- God -- OK, Karl," Viggo pants.

And Karl slows down. He doesn't lighten up, but his strokes go slower, a little more brutal for their pace. "Later you'll get to come. After I'm done with you. You know where I was this afternoon?"

"Nnn -- no," Viggo pants. "Where?"

"Visiting Sean," Karl says with a grin. He gives Viggo another rough thrust and lets his hair go. "Your Sean. Bean."

Viggo says nothing; he can't speak. Everything is focused on Karl, Karl's cock, his hands, the movement of his hips. He nods, hoping that comes off as encouragement to keep talking. _Your Sean._ He doesn't know what Karl means, but Christ, just the idea -- _your Sean_ \-- gets him close. Like he wasn't already.

"You're not coming because when I'm done with you--" and Karl stops moving for a moment so Viggo can concentrate on every word he says-- "you're going to go to his place and fuck him." He starts moving again, harder, faster. "Any way you want. He's yours. I'm giving him to you for the night. So don't even fucking think about coming."

Viggo reaches back and clamps a hand just under the head of his cock, gritting his teeth. Just the idea -- God, the idea of what he's going to do as soon as Karl's done with him -- _Jesus._

"You like that?" Karl pants, grinning.

"Fuck," Viggo moans. "Oh, Christ, Karl. Fuck."

Karl lets out a long groan and comes, throwing his head back and gasping. He leans back over Viggo when he's done, and he rubs a hand over Viggo's head, a rough, affectionate pat. "Good boy," Karl grins. He pulls out and sits back on his haunches, delivering a hard slap to Viggo's ass as he catches his breath.

Viggo struggles with his patience and finally breaks down. "When?" he asks.

"Impatient," Karl grins, and gives Viggo another hard slap.

Viggo curses and puts his head down, resting his forehead lightly on his arms for a moment. "Please, Karl. I'm so goddamned hard it hurts and I want h-- want this."

Another slap. "Say what you meant, boy."

"...him," Viggo whispers. "I want _him_."

"I know." Karl says it like it doesn't matter. Like it doesn't mean anything. Like he's not holding all the cards, including the trump jack. "Here's how it's going to happen. You listening?"

Viggo nods, still on his hands and knees. Karl leans over and bites him directly on the right cheek, hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to bruise. He wants Viggo going over to Sean's marked, and he wants the mark to be something Sean never sees. Karl grins.

"You're going to walk out the door in jeans. Barefoot. No shirt. And you're going to get your ass to Sean's as fast as you can manage it. You can take my car. Or you can take yours. Or you can run if you want to.

"You're going to walk straight in through his door. It'll be open, and if it's not you can fucking break it down. You're not going to say a goddamned word to him. You're going to walk into his bedroom, and he's going to be waiting for you. Lubed. Prepped. Ready. He'll have a rubber waiting for you. You get it on and you get in him, no waiting, no hesitation.

"Fuck him like you've got something to prove. Hurt him like you've got revenge on your mind. And then get out of there, and come home to me."

Viggo's breath is drawing up short. He puts his hand to his cock again and presses hard, biting down on his lower lip and letting out several soft, moaning grunts.

Karl slides off the bed and sits down at Viggo's shoulder. "You close, boy?" he murmurs. Viggo only nods. "You better last long enough to make him want you to come back. Don't fucking disappoint him."

"He won't be disappointed," Viggo growls. "I've been watching him for long enough to know how bad he wants me. I can do this."

"Then snap to it." Karl drags fingers through Viggo's hair and catches the back of Viggo's neck in his hand. "I want you to come back to me smelling of his sweat. I want to smell that on you and lick it off your skin." He shakes Viggo's head, once, sharply. "Fucking go already, boy."

Viggo is off the bed and bending to the floor for his jeans before Karl can blink. In his haste, he picks up a pair of Karl's jeans, and it's not until he reaches the zipper -- a zipper, instead of buttons -- that he realizes his mistake. He curses, and Karl simply laughs at him.

"That'll do fine," Karl grins. His jeans are just a couple of inches too long on Viggo, and they hang off his hips, exposing a little more flesh than Viggo's jeans usually do, but damn, they do look good that way. "Get your ass out of here."

Viggo doesn't even look back, and Karl grins; he likes that. He likes it a _lot_.

He reaches to the nightstand and picks up the phone, dialing Sean's number.

"You ready?" Karl asks. "He's coming over."


	4. Without The Benefit Of Words

Sean nearly jumps out of his skin when the phone rings. He scrambles for it. "Yeah?" He's breathless; there's only one voice he wants to hear right now.

Mercifully, he gets it. "You ready?" Karl asks. "He's coming over."

"Yes, Sir, I'm ready," Sean manages. "How do you want me to prepare for him, Sir?"

"Get naked and get lubed up. Leave your door unlocked unless you want him to break it down. Be on the bed however you want, and get ready for him to take you." Karl runs his tongue along the edge of his teeth. "I told him to go over there and hurt you."

Sean hisses. "Thank you, Sir," he whispers.

Karl pauses, and then chuckles softly. "Like that idea?" he asks. "You like pain, Sean?"

The moment stretches out until Karl thinks he's going to have to order Sean to answer. He waits a few more seconds first, though, and Sean finally says, very quietly, "Yes, Sir, I like pain."

"Huh." Karl is already making mental notes. A lot of them. "Well, we'll see what happens, won't we?"

"Yes, Sir."

"He'll be there any time. Get ready. Go." And Karl hangs up.

Sean doesn't waste a second. He goes to the door first and unlocks it, only sparing a brief second to wonder what it would be like having Viggo break down his door -- it occurs to him that while he might not care one way or the other whether Viggo breaks down his door, he'd fucking love it if Aragorn broke it down -- and then goes back to the bedroom.

He tosses a condom on the foot of the bed and then strips out of pants and shirt. He digs for lube, and hears a noise at the door.

 _Jesus, that was fast._ Sean puts a foot up on the bed and tucks two fingers into himself, glancing at his bedroom doorway as a shadow covers it.

Viggo took Karl's car, because it was blocking him in in the driveway. He's just run up Sean's front steps and hit the door hard, almost surprised when it opened easily.

Walking in to see Sean prepping himself is a startling but very pleasant shock; a small part of him was almost worried Sean wouldn't be cooperative about all this, and he'd have to make some attempt at seduction. Clearly, Sean doesn't need that. Viggo grins, and the grin is vaguely reminiscent of Karl's predatory smile.

"Hello, Sean," Viggo murmurs.

Sean doesn't say a word, and he plants his eyes on the floor. He pulls his fingers out of his ass and wipes them on one of his nearby hand towels.

Viggo contemplates Sean and then steps forward. He doesn't bother with any preamble; he simply digs his teeth hard into Sean's shoulder and waits to see what happens.

Sean jerks hard, but then leans into the bite, not away from it. He moans quietly.

The moan sounds wonderful to Viggo. He bites harder, wanting to hear more sounds just like that.

And Sean obliges, letting out moan after moan as Viggo bites his way across his shoulder. The pain is bright; Sean nearly feels as if he's glowing.

It takes Viggo's breath away. _I'm hurting him. And he wants it._ His hands glide down to Sean's hips and his fingers dig in hard. "Sean," he whispers. He flicks his tongue out over the last bite, one that's a beautiful angry red. "I'm going to fuck you. And I want to hear you scream."

Sean moans again at that. He's not going to be able to help himself. He nods, several times, to drive home the point that _yes yes yes_ , he wants it, needs it, and one of his hands covers Viggo's and presses it in harder.

"Yeah," Viggo murmurs, "good." He turns Sean so that Sean's facing the bed, and pushes his hands down so they're planted there -- Sean will need the support. Viggo unfastens his jeans and lets them fall to the floor, then steps out of them. He grabs up the condom and impatiently rolls it on; Sean makes a soft growling noise as the sound of the latex unrolling hits the quiet of the room.

Viggo laughs and grabs a fistful of Sean's hair -- it's so short he has to get a merciless grip against Sean's scalp -- and gives his head a rough shake. "Fuck, you're hungry. We should have done this weeks ago."

Sean nods as best he can against Viggo's grip. He can't speak, isn't allowed to speak, but he arches back against Viggo and prays that'll be enough.

It'll do. Viggo takes his cock in his hand and pushes into Sean, and both men groan. Sean shoves back as Viggo shoves forward, and it's perfect -- blinding and perfect.

Viggo's thoughts are going back to Karl's instructions. _Fuck him like you've got something to prove. Hurt him like you've got revenge on your mind._ He pulls out of Sean -- the leverage on his feet isn't what he wants, not exactly. He grabs Sean by one shoulder and shoves him to the floor.

Sean hits the ground hard, on his side, and immediately rolls to his back, glaring up at Viggo. If he could speak, there'd be curses happening here; he can't, though, he _won't_ , and so he arches up, hands reaching out to grab at Viggo's arms.

Viggo simply grabs Sean's forearms and shoves him down to the floor, pinning his arms down and shoving his hips between Sean's legs. "Bastard," Viggo gasps out, teeth bared in a feral grin. "You're fighting like you don't want it. A fucking whore like you, getting prepped for me before I even got here, and you're fighting?" Viggo doesn't even know where these words are coming from; they just _feel_ right, despite his easy friendship with Sean, despite the fact that they're friends and colleagues and Viggo really does have the utmost respect for him. _Fucking whore._ But now there's that, too, and he's not going to argue against himself for saying it. Not right now. Later they'll talk it out, maybe, and he'll get things sorted out, but right now he needs to be back in Sean. Right fucking now.

Sean does struggle. He does fight. But when Viggo drops his head down to Sean's shoulder again and nips hard, Sean moans, and resistance drops out of him for a moment. Viggo keeps up the biting, ramping up the intensity, showing Sean just how sharp his teeth are, and takes a chance by letting one of Sean's arms go and guiding his cock to Sean's opening again. He thrusts in hard, before Sean can squirm away, and then his hand is back on Sean's forearm, leverage finally making it impossible for Sean to move his arms at all.

"There we go," Viggo breathes, "oh, fuck, that's it. Right there." _Fuck him like you've got something to prove. Hurt him like you've got revenge on your mind._ And he does. He goes in as hard as he can manage this way, and his teeth leave bruise after bruise across Sean's shoulders, across the top of his chest, until Sean is making soft keening whimpers and his eyes are squeezed shut tight.

Sean shifts his hips and draws his legs up around Viggo's waist. Viggo arches his back at the improved position and simply digs in harder, pounds in with a complete lack of finesse -- what Sean is getting now boils down to simple, primal ferocity, and growls, and hard sharp bites on his chest. Sean has stopped struggling, and Viggo reaches down to Sean's chest, twisting at a nipple and then pinching hard.

Sean's throat arches back, and he does scream at that. And Viggo shudders, gasping against Sean's skin, groaning -- that one scream is going to have him over the edge if he doesn't come up with a way to stop it. He arches up again and licks a heavy, rough path across Sean's throat, then pulls his left hand off Sean's forearm and pushes it down across Sean's mouth.

"Scream your fucking head off," he growls. "Fucking bite me if you want to. Go on."

Sean's eyes are wide, and he barely moves. Viggo lunges forward again, another fast, furious thrust, and pinches Sean's nipple _hard_ ; Sean jerks under Viggo's hands and his body, and his mouth opens under Viggo's hand. He screams again, muffled by Viggo's palm, and Viggo shudders, wondering how that muffled, choked sound can be doing all the things it's doing to him. The chill up his spine, the spike of arousal, the bright spark of certainty -- he's doing this and he likes it, but better than that he's doing it to _Sean_ and _Sean_ fucking _loves_ it -- it twists and tangles around him and he simply can't stand it anymore. He presses hard into Sean again and throws his head back, arching and screaming and feeling the sharp bite of Sean's teeth in his palm.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. Viggo doesn't know. He comes back to himself slowly, more slowly than in recent memory, and finally lets Sean go, pushing up to give Sean a little breathing room, taking his hands from Sean's body and bracing them on the floor. He's stunned. Startled. Winded.

Sean looks breathtaking. His eyes are closed, and his arms are stretched above his head, where Viggo put them. He's breathing heavily, sweat making trails down from his temples. His hair is damp. Viggo drags his fingertips through Sean's hair and moans again, quietly. There's so much damp between their bodies he honestly can't tell how much of it is sweat, whether Sean managed to come during all that. He drops down and presses a soft kiss to Sean's jawline, and murmurs the question: "Have you come?"

Sean only shakes his head, and it's a beautiful thing to watch. Viggo nuzzles into his neck. "Should I let you?" he whispers. He draws himself up again to see Sean's reaction.

Sean's eyes blink open, and though he's still not speaking -- Viggo hasn't quite figured out why Sean isn't speaking -- his eyes say it all. _Oh, God, please._

"All right," Viggo whispers. "What do you need?"

Sean bares his teeth -- a hope, not a threat -- and draws a hand down Viggo's arm to clutch at Viggo's hand. Viggo gets it immediately and grins, baring his own teeth.

"Christ, Sean, there's not a spot on you that isn't marked. Where?"

A soft laugh comes out of Sean's throat, and he shakes his head. _Anywhere._

Viggo is almost gentle as he pulls out of Sean, quickly discarding the condom and dropping it to the floor. He straddles Sean's legs and drops a hand between their bodies, clutching Sean's cock, drawing his fingers up it -- there's been enough sweat between them that his hand glides easily, and he grins at that. He ducks his head down and bites, one hard bite after another across Sean's shoulder.

Sean shivers and moans, and then his arms come up and his fingers dig into Viggo's shoulders. " _Unnhh_." It's a definite plea, even if it doesn't come out in words. "Uhh -- _nnnnn,_ nnnnn..."

Viggo can feel the clenching of Sean's stomach under the edge of his hand. "How close are you?" he whispers against Sean's skin.

"Mmm -- mmm, nnn, aaaahhgghhh," Sean manages. Dimly, he realizes that he couldn't put it into words now if he tried.

"Oh, fuck, that's beautiful," Viggo gasps, "come on, then, come for me," and he licks hard over the last bite he made, tongue dipping into the dents where his teeth left their mark on him.

It's perfect. Sean clutches hard at Viggo's shoulders and thrusts up dizzily into Viggo's hand. His entire body seems to pulse in time with the jets of his come; he gasps and writhes under Viggo as orgasm shakes him to his core.

Viggo remains still, steady; once it starts, he simply holds on tight, gripping Sean's cock but no longer gliding his hand over it. Everything comes to a beautiful standstill, and he can almost hear Sean's heartbeat in the room.

"God," Viggo whispers. "God, Sean."

"Hmmm." Sean twists under Viggo, lazily now. "Mm?" It's a slightly pained noise, one that indicates _I'm too fucking old to lie on the floor this way. Up, please?_

Mercifully, Viggo gets it. He climbs off Sean and draws his very sticky hand up Sean's chest, grinning as it leaves a trail and finally slipping fingers into Sean's mouth. "I'll help you into bed when my hand's clean," he says softly.

Sean's eyes close again, and he sucks on Viggo's fingers with pleased, lazy abandon, feeling rather hedonistic. He gets his eyes open and focuses on taking the come from Viggo's fingers with long, flat licks across Viggo's hand.

When his hand is clean, Viggo takes it away and leans down to brush a kiss over Sean's forehead. "This was fucking amazing, Sean."

" _Mmmmm._ "

"I have to..." There's real regret in Viggo's voice now. "I have to get home to Karl." What's more, there's not a shred of guilt in him for that regret; Karl might not like it, but Viggo is sorry to be leaving.

"Hmm." Sean's eyes open, and focus on Viggo's. He licks across his lips, and nods, then sits up, wincing and hissing and pushing over to one side.

Viggo helps Sean into bed, drawing covers up over him. He traces Sean's cheek with his fingers. He's hungry for words. For closure. Anything that will make it seem like it's OK that he's leaving Sean this way.

Sean takes Viggo's hand in his and lifts Viggo's fingertips to his lips. "Mm," he says quietly. Another kiss, and then a soft smile. "Hmm."

"Are you going to be all right if I go?"

Sean nods without hesitation. "Mmm."

"Is it... all right that I'm...?"

Another nod. "Mm-hmm."

"Can we do this--" Viggo cuts himself off; that's not for him to say.

Sean shoots him a look that says he knows just what Viggo's thinking. He smirks, and shrugs, and grins again with a soft snort.

"All right, then," Viggo grins back, and he drops another kiss on Sean's forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Sean frowns, suddenly, and nods; he knows he can't speak to Viggo at times like this, but on set... shit. Well, allowances have to be made for work. And if Karl doesn't like it...

Well. If Karl doesn't like it, he'll probably take it out of Sean's ass, and that doesn't sound half bad. Not at all.

Sean's expression clears, and he looks up at Viggo with a grin. He nods.

All those expressions on Sean's face have Viggo slightly puzzled. He's going to need to have a long talk with Karl when he goes home. Still, it looks like everything's all right, and that's good enough for Viggo.

He leans down one more time and captures Sean's lips with his. He can't help himself.

Sean's arms twine around Viggo's neck, and Sean draws him close, moaning softly against his mouth, kissing with openmouthed pleasure and greedy, satiated lust. It's all Viggo can do to draw away. He pulls back and nuzzles against the palm of Sean's hand. "Tomorrow," he says. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Mm-hmm." Sean pulls his hand back and yawns, stretching, arching, tugging the covers up around himself and falling lazily into sleep.

Viggo tugs Karl's jeans up over his hips. This whole world is new to him -- the orders are new, the way he let himself go with Sean was _entirely_ new, those feelings he got in the pit of his stomach when Sean was writhing and moaning under him -- Jesus. But something about the way Sean went non-verbal struck him as very odd.

"Next time I'll make you speak to me," Viggo promises. "In words." And he walks out the door, digging through his pockets to find the car keys, so he can drive home.


	5. Dinner Invitation

It shouldn't surprise Karl that Sean and Viggo have been watching each other, joking with each other, all day long. It's normal for them. And they're not going to make a big deal out of finally having gotten into each other's pants; that's not like either of them.

It shouldn't _bother_ Karl, seeing it. He's the one who engineered it. He gave them permission. It was all his idea.

But there's a light in Viggo's eyes -- for Sean -- that has never been there for Karl. And there's a hunger in Sean's expression that doesn't exist when Karl looks at him.

Now, when they're looking at Karl, they do give him something unique. Both of them are _his_. Owned. And their eyes say they know it full well. So that's something.

But still... Karl wasn't expecting them to form a _connection_. Not so soon. Not like that.

All right. Not a problem. It only means he needs to reassert who belongs to whom here. And that's going to start, he decides, with Bean.

"Sean," he calls out, loping over in Sean's direction. "C'mere."

Sean stops laughing abruptly and pulls his gaze away from Viggo. There's no _I'll catch you later_ or other such promises; that's an order from Karl, and when Karl's giving orders, there'sno more talking to Viggo. Sean just nods and follows Karl around the back of one of the trailers. He's not a bit surprised when Karl pushes his shoulder into the metal of the trailer wall and pins him there.

"So what have you been doing all day?" Karl asks.

Sean frowns; it doesn't seem there can possibly be a right answer. "Filming," he says, finally.

"And between takes?" Karl works his free hand between them and cups Sean's cock through velvet.

"Ahh -- err -- talking," Sean responds quietly.

"To?" Karl strokes a little harder.

"...your boy, Sir," Sean whispers.

"I think," Karl says, leaning in close, "you've been stepping over the line, Bean. I told you you weren't supposed to say a goddamned _word_ to Viggo. Not. A. Fucking. _Word._ "

"But--"

Karl stops stroking and squeezes hard. Sean chokes off the rest of what he was going to say and leans forward, panting. "'But'...?" Karl repeats.

"Filming," Sean moans. "Didn't... want it to... look strange."

"Did you go into it knowing I'd find out and make you pay for it?" Karl whispers. He presses his lips to Sean's ear. "Was that the point, Bean?"

"Nnn," Sean manages.

"Is that a no?"

"...no, Sir, you're right, Sir. Christ. Fucking hell." Sean lets his head drop against Karl's shoulder. "Thought you'd... punish me if... I talked to him. Didn't... mind the idea."

"How was he?" Karl whispers. "I haven't asked him how it went. But he came home smelling of your sweat, and he tasted bittersweet when I started licking it off him."

Sean moans again. "He was good, Sir," he whispers.

Karl goes back to stroking, and Sean lets out a relieved breath. "More," he urges Sean. "Did he hurt you? I told him to walk over and hurt you like he had revenge on his mind."

"Revenge for what, Sir?" Sean blurts out; his eyes are closing hard and he's trying not to come in his costume.

Karl only laughs. "A number of things. Your disrespect to Narsil. Trying to steal the one ring. Or maybe just for being such a fucking cock tease, all these months, making him want you and not letting him have you."

Something penetrates the arousal, just for a moment. Sean has a blinding flash of inspiration. And then, just as suddenly, he loses it, and bites down on Karl's shoulder, trying not to scream. "Sir--"

"What's that?" Karl asks; the grip of Sean's teeth, between panted breaths and words, is just fucking outstanding.

"Sir--" another pant, another moan-- "need to--" and another bite, hard and sharp against the fabric of Karl's shirt-- "come, _please_."

"You don't fucking _deserve_ to come, Bean," Karl hisses. "You've forgotten something. Something huge. Viggo's my boy. You're just the whore I picked up for him to use when he wants somebody to fuck."

Sean chokes; his eyes water, and he nods, half-miserable and half-awestruck, against Karl's shoulder.

"Now, I'm going to let you go here. I'm _not_ going to let you come. You're not going to stroke off. You're not going to find somewhere to go. You're going to stay hard like that until it wears off you."

"Sir, please," Sean whispers. "Your whore is sorry, Sir, for taking more than he'd earned."

"Good," Karl grins, "but I'm still not letting you come. Not until later. Not until tonight."

Sean's head jerks up, and he searches for Karl's eyes. "Tonight...?"

"Tonight you're coming by my place. We'll have _dinner_. And we'll talk rules and roles and obligations. And if you're very fucking good, then I'll watch my boy fuck his whore, and then I'll fuck you, and then, if you're good, if you're very, very good, you can come on the floor and lick it up." Karl gets in one last good squeeze, and brushes his lips against Sean's neck. "So you remember this little conversation the next time you decide to take liberties. You got that?"

Sean nods, eyes closing again, slumping against the outer wall of the trailer.

"Good," Karl affirms, and he walks off.

Viggo next. Karl's going to have to wait for him a while; Viggo has sword training this afternoon, and then he's probably going to spend some time with his horse. Karl shakes his head. Fucking Viggo and his determination to immerse himself in every aspect of a role -- but no, he can't curse that too much; he's got to admit that's part of what makes Viggo such an outstanding lover. And boy.

So home, then. Karl nods to himself and heads off.

When Viggo gets home, Karl's lying on the couch, paging through the newspaper, looking for articles that might mention the shoot -- a few things here and there, but nothing of interest. Viggo heads over to Karl and tugs the newspaper down slightly, grinning over the top of it. "Hey," he says.

"Hey. C'mere," Karl returns. He tosses the paper aside and stretches out fully on his back, getting his legs stretched out straight. Viggo comes around the back of the couch, and Karl tugs him up so Viggo's straddling Karl's lap. "How you doing?" he asks.

"Mmm. Better now," Viggo admits. He arches his back slightly and grinds his ass down onto Karl's cock. Karl hums with satisfaction as he feels himself growing hard. "What can I do for you?" Viggo asks. His eyes are gleaming.

"Remind me of something. I've forgotten."

Viggo lifts an eyebrow. "OK..."

Karl reaches up and grips the back of Viggo's neck. "Who do you belong to?" he growls.

Viggo has to bend down slightly to keep from straining his neck. "Karl," he manages, "what the...?"

"Are we still doing this, or do you want to be on your own?"

"Don't be absurd." Viggo shakes his head as best he can with that grip on the back of his neck. "Of course we're still doing this. Yours, remember?" Viggo leans down further and ghosts his lips across Karl's. "Yours."

"Saw you talking to Sean this afternoon."

Viggo frowns. "I always talk to Sean."

Karl suppresses a frown of his own. True enough. "It's different now," he murmurs. "You've had him. We need to sit down and talk about all of it. The three of us. You, me, Sean. Tonight. Dinner."

"Sure," Viggo says, but his voice sounds a little distant now. "Fine."

Karl picks up on that immediately. "What's not fine about it?" he asks. His grip tightens, just a fraction, and he pulls Viggo away so he can look into his eyes. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Viggo insists. His eyes have gone a bit distant, too. "Nothing's wrong. Where are we meeting him?"

"Here. In another two hours. You're on your own until then." Karl feels suddenly dizzy; the distance isn't what he expected from Viggo at all. He lets Viggo go, all at once, and shifts so Viggo nearly tips over. Viggo has to sit back immediately to regain his balance, and he puts a hand down on Karl's chest to complete the save. Karl pins that hand down with one of his own.

Balance. Equilibrium. That's what's missing here. Karl thinks he can get it all settled if he can just get everyone together in one place. That's the plan, anyway. He releases Viggo's hand, and Viggo swings off Karl's lap. Karl sits up to watch Viggo walk down the hall to his room, and shakes his head.

Dinner. It'll be all right once they get to dinner.


	6. Karl's Whore

Nervous. Viggo is nervous. He's so nervous he's been in a frenzy of artistic near-desperation most of the afternoon.

Sean is coming over for dinner. And they're going to talk. So Karl said. Viggo understands that the conversation will almost certainly turn to what happened when Karl gave Sean to Viggo. Karl still hasn't even asked about it, which seems more than a little strange to Viggo. Then again, everyone's been acting strange. Karl's been acting strange. Sean's been -- well, no. Sean wouldn't speak that night, but since then he's been acting like Sean. He's been speaking just fine. And it's a good thing, because otherwise they'd have had a hell of a time filming.

Viggo has been trying not to think about what it would be like if they had two days off and he could spend the time fucking Sean into that sort of incoherence again, learning what all those rough, near-animal sounds mean. Which ones mean _let's have breakfast_ and which ones mean _bite me until I'm bleeding_.

Viggo splashes red paint on his canvas and tries to remember how to breathe.

"Vig? It's almost time." Karl's voice is quiet from the doorway. Karl almost never disturbs Viggo when he's painting or writing or even just thinking. Viggo doesn't mind the interruption this time, though; he knows the paint drying on the canvas will lend the painting a different texture when it's done, as if the thoughts and feelings it expresses were jagged, ruptured here and there. And that's exactly how he feels, so that's perfect. He does feel jagged. Ruptured. He doesn't feel steady under Karl the way he did when this all started.

"I'm ready," Viggo says, and he wipes his hands off on his jeans. "Is he here yet?"

"Not--" But then there's a knock on the door, and Karl grins slightly. "Yeah," he says, "Sean's here."

Sean is at the door with a six-pack of beer -- it really isn't going to be enough for this conversation, but it's a start -- and he, too, is fighting nervousness. He lets out a short breath when Karl answers the door, and holds out the beer. "Evening," he murmurs.

"Hey. Come in, Sean."

 _Sean._ That's a new one; with Karl it's been _Bean_ (or, lately, _Whore_ , Sean tries not to remind himself) for some time now. Sean tries not to let on how much that throws him. "Thanks," he says.

Sean follows Karl inside and sets the beer down on the kitchen counter. Viggo is waiting in the kitchen, dressed in a torn, faded t-shirt and paint-stained jeans, and to Sean's eyes he looks fucking gorgeous. Sean looks away; grinning at Viggo in front of Karl is a bad idea.

Sean's odd distance just makes Viggo want to reach for him and ask what's wrong; he, too, knows it would be a poor idea to ask how Sean is doing in front of Karl, and so he waits, feeling even more nervousness now that Sean is actually here.

Karl puts a hand on Viggo's shoulder. "Go sit down. Both of you. I'll bring in some food." Karl has a standard pasta made and ready on the table; he just needs to get things like cheese and fresh ground pepper to go with it.

Viggo inclines his head to Karl, and then tilts his head in the direction of the dining room, signaling Sean. Sean follows as Viggo walks off.

Karl waits a few moments to see what's audible from the other room. The scrape of chairs; the creaks that indicate both men have sat down.

A murmur, and that's got to be Viggo.

Silence.

Another murmur, more silence, and a sigh.

Karl grins and picks up the pepper and Parmesan, and heads into the dining room.

What Viggo actually said was, "It's good to see you, Sean."

And when Sean was silent, he followed it up with, "Still not going to talk, huh?" Sean looked up with a wry grin, and Viggo let out an exasperated sigh.

Karl sets the pepper and Parmesan on the table, and sits down at the last open seat. "All right," he says. "Sean, feel free to speak to Viggo tonight if you want. If I'm around, you can talk to him."

Viggo's eyes narrow, and he looks at Karl with a sudden flash of understanding. Karl stares back evenly. "Yeah?" he asks Viggo.

"Nothing," Viggo mumbles. He looks at Sean. Sean is staring at his water glass, trying not to look at anyone. "Hey," Viggo says, a sudden harsh syllable that gets Sean's head tilted up and his eyes searching for Viggo's before Sean can stop himself. "There, that's better. I wondered why you weren't talking to me."

"Because Karl said not to," Sean says softly.

"Uh-huh." Viggo shifts in his seat. "So you're his, too?"

"Not in the same terms you are."

Viggo looks to Karl at that. "What does he mean by that?" he asks.

"Oh, go ahead and explain it," Karl grins at Sean. "Like I explained it to you earlier."

Sean sucks in a breath and nods; he looks down at his water glass again, and then up at Viggo, before starting. "You're his boy," Sean whispers. "I'm only the whore he picked up for you to use when you want someone to fuck."

Viggo stares. He can't draw in enough breath to get words out. He can't decide whether to stand up and walk out, whether to grin lazily at Karl and thank him, whether to order Sean onto his knees...

...on second thought, it's an easier decision than he expected.

"Yeah?" Viggo asks. "C'mere, then." He snaps his fingers and indicates the floor between himself and Karl.

Sean pushes out of his chair immediately. It's Pavlovian, he thinks with some embarrassment, but a snap of Viggo's fingers has him hard already, and he goes to his knees, absurdly grateful when Viggo stretches out a hand and indicates Sean can rest his head against Viggo's thigh. Sean settles in with a soft sigh.

"No," Karl snaps. "Wrong. All wrong." He glares over at Viggo. "He's not a courtesan. He's a _whore_. A _toy_. You don't put him on his knees at your side. You bend him over the goddamned table." He reaches down and grabs Sean by the back of his collar, and pushes plates and bowls and glasses aside to give him room to do just that. Sean goes face first into the table and grunts a soft complaint, but he doesn't struggle; he puts his hands behind his back and spreads his legs, steadying himself.

Viggo glares right back. "Is he mine or not?"

"Not," Karl bites out. "He's mine. Like you're mine. You don't touch without my say, you don't talk without my say, and you fuck him the way I want you to fuck him, or you don't even so much as look at his ass. You got it?"

Viggo crosses his arms in front of his chest and gives Karl a hard look. Karl stares right back, willing to let it be a staring contest for now. He has a moment's flicker of doubt, wondering what in hell's name possessed him to take on two men who are very much his equals for something like this. But then, it's the challenge that has him interested in the first place. If he weren't feeling doubts now, he'd know the situation wasn't worth his time.

Viggo finally looks away first. He stares at his plate, ignoring the way Sean is sprawled out on the table. "All right," he says quietly. "Whatever you say, Karl."

"That's better." Karl shakes his head. "Christ, the both of you are disobedient as hell. You know I'm going to take it out of both of you, sooner or later?" Karl runs a hand down Sean's arm, then slides it over his ass and pinches hard. "Sooner for Sean, I think." He leans over Sean's back and murmurs at his ear, "because you've been enticing my boy. Taking his attention. And that doesn't fucking fly with me."

"No, Sir," Sean whispers, "sorry, Sir."

Viggo doesn't know when he drew the napkin into his lap. He only knows it's twisting hard in his hands. He looks over at Sean and Karl. This is not the only conversation they'll be having. They're going to need more than this.

Karl, though, hasn't even looked over at Viggo. He's reaching under Sean's waist to tug at his belt and the button of his jeans, unzipping his pants and tugging them down over his hips. "Hold still," Karl growls. He digs lube and condoms out of his pocket and tosses the small bottle to Viggo. "Prep him."

It's almost too far. Almost. Viggo takes the lube and stares at it for a few seconds. He looks up at Sean, who's turned his head so he can look back at Viggo.

"You waiting for something?" Karl asks.

"Yeah." Viggo nods at Sean. "Waiting for him to beg."

That's not quite it. He's waiting for Sean to say anything, give any sign, that this is what he wants. That Sean _wants_ it this way. This is well past all the boundaries Viggo and Karl have explored, and it's beyond what Viggo thought Sean might have wanted. He needs certainty. One word, and he can commit to doing it this way; it might not be everything he wants, but it'll be good enough.

Karl seems to sense the importance of this; he turns to Sean and then takes a step back. "You don't have to beg," Karl murmurs. "You can get up. You can go. Or you can stay here, like this, and know you're mine, and his when I choose to give you to him. Up to you, Sean."

Sean's eyes search for Viggo's, and he licks his lips, panting. "Please," he whispers. "Please give it to me."

"You asked for it," Viggo murmurs. He pops open the lube and slicks his fingers, digging his free hand into Sean's hip as he guides his fingers in slowly. Sean moans and presses his forehead to the table; Viggo twists and turns his fingers and curls them inside Sean until Sean is arching and rocking back against him and moaning, little incoherent pleas making their way out of his throat.

"Good," Karl says. "That's enough. He can take it this way."

Viggo steps back, and Karl unbuttons his jeans. He pulls his cock out and gives it a few lazy strokes, sighing pleasantly as he does. He nods at the condoms on the table. "Get one on me," he orders Viggo.

Viggo tears open the packet and slides the condom over Karl, gracing Karl's cock with the leftover lube from his fingers. Karl nods, a very dismissive gesture, and turns to Sean. He spreads Sean's cheeks with his thumbs and then guides himself in, rough, dirty, growling.

Sean moans as Karl starts moving in him, pistoning, hips pumping hard. It's not rough enough to hurt, but it's got him firmly in his place here. Sean can feel the tangled twist of humiliation bleeding into his skin, and it's been so damn long since he felt anything remotely like that that he's grateful and aroused and desperate, already, for more.

 _Be honest, you fucking whore -- what you want is Viggo in you. Fucking you. Claiming you._

Sean arches his head back and pants. "God, please, please," he whispers, " _please_ , Karl..."

Karl groans, and gives one more hard thrust into Sean. He half-collapses as he comes, fingers digging so hard into Sean's hips that Karl can feel the contours of Sean's hipbones. He stays still for a few seconds, then pulls out, much too fast. It makes Sean let out a half-scream, and he puts his forehead back on the table, panting.

"You next," Karl gasps, nodding to Viggo; he sits down heavily in his chair.

Viggo's movements are deliberate, slow, easy; he stands up and unbuttons his jeans, then unzips them, letting the sound of the teeth uncatching one-by-one come out into the silence of the room, competing only with Sean's gasps for a chance to be heard. He picks up a condom and slicks it onto himself, carefully, and then rubs a hand across Sean's ass. He hums, satisfied. This will do for now.

"Beg," Viggo murmurs.

"Viggo, please, fuck me."

"More."

Sean lets out a shuddering breath and takes another one in. "Viggo, please, please fuck me. Want to feel you in me. Want you to fuck your whore. Hard. Please."

"Yes," Viggo agrees, and he slides in, entry eased considerably by Karl's earlier presence. " _Ohhh_ \--" He's actually surprised by how hot he finds all this; there's something just _too good_ about having Sean this way, having Sean begging to be used... he puts all rational explanations aside and simply concentrates on fucking Sean into the table, hard enough to make Sean squirm into the wood, hard enough that the edge of the table will leave bruises to match the ones left by Karl's hands. Viggo's own hands merely give him the leverage to go in hard, deep. He pumps into Sean several more times before he comes, arching his head back, nearly roaring with it. "God," he whispers. "God, Sean..."

"Enough," Karl bites out. "Viggo, sit your ass down; have some dinner. Sean, you can stay right there like that until one or the other of us is ready to fuck you again."

"Yes, Sir," Sean moans. Viggo lifts an eyebrow. Those words coming out of Sean's mouth -- they sound good.

They're _wrong_ , but God, they sound good.

They're wrong because they're being directed at Karl, and not at Viggo. Viggo reaches for the pasta, pushing the thought out of his mind. This is the way things are; he's resigned to it.

Karl can sense something slipping here; he's not going to have them this way for very long, he suspects. Still, for now, it's good. Sean is being a very good boy; it's Viggo he's going to have to keep an eye on.

Karl nods to himself as he starts eating. Viggo, then. He'll see if he can find a way to control Viggo.

 _I'm out of my fucking mind,_ he thinks to himself. _He'll snap._

Viggo looks at Karl, and he can sense what Karl's thinking. Karl's right. And he's wrong. Viggo's already snapped.


	7. Layers of Identity

Things have settled down considerably since the night Karl had Sean over for dinner. Sean has been behaving. Viggo -- well, he's been growling, but he's behaved himself, too.

Karl doesn't expect that to last. He's got a week off and is taking the time to go on a couple of auditions. Which means he won't be able to keep an eye on Viggo. Which bodes poorly.

He shoves Viggo up against the wall the day he has to leave, and fucks him hard enough to hurt. Hard enough that, if he hadn't been careful with the lube before this, Viggo might have ended up bleeding.

"Mine," Karl snarls into the back of Viggo's neck as he comes. "Remember that while I'm gone."

"I'm in no danger of forgetting," Viggo pants. "Karl -- I want permission to use my whore while you're away."

"Fuck." Karl hasn't even started to soften, hasn't made Viggo come, and what's on Viggo's mind? Sean. Always Sean. "Well, thanks for letting me know exactly where your mind was during all that, Viggo. I appreciate it." He pulls away.

"I want him," Viggo murmurs, still pressed to the wall. "More than I expected."

"More than you want to belong to me."

Viggo doesn't answer. He doesn't need to.

"Fine. That's fine, Viggo. But you're forgetting something. Sean's mine. Not yours. And while you might not give a shit about the rules, Sean. Always. Plays. By the rules." Karl comes up behind Viggo again and presses his cheek to Viggo's. "So you can play by mine and leave him alone while I'm gone. Or you can walk out on me, and I can make sure my whore never touches you again." Karl pushes back and turns around, scratching fingers through his hair. _See what you think of that,_ he decides.

Viggo peels himself off the wall. He bends down to the floor to get into his jeans again, and snags his shirt off the floor where it landed when Karl ripped it off him. He tugs it on over his head; it only looks a little worse than it normally did. Karl doesn't remember if the hole in the collar was there before or not.

"All right," Viggo says quietly. "I won't touch Sean while you're gone."

"Good." Karl looks over his shoulder at Viggo and nods. "Good."

He doesn't _believe_ Viggo, but it's good to hear him say that.

Karl stalks off to his bedroom. He needs to pack.

* * *

"You have been watching me all day long."

Sean jumps; what an odd thing for Viggo to say. And what an odd way to say it. He's still speaking in Aragorn's accent rather than fading off into his own slow, slightly nasal mumble. But then, that's really not so unusual for Viggo.

Sean shakes his head. "I haven't--"

"I am wondering, son of Gondor, if the journey here was longer than it seemed. You arrived alone. And now you set yourself apart from the rest of us here in Rivendell. Are you not lonely?"

Sean swallows and stares at Viggo for a few long seconds. He frowns.

It's not Viggo's hands that reach out for Sean's shoulders; it's Strider reaching out for Boromir. He grasps Boromir's shoulders in both hands and holds tight for a moment. "I know you may find the company of a Ranger rather poor," Strider murmurs, "but I would offer you companionship, if you would take it. How long has it been since you so much as broke bread with a fellow Man?"

 _"I can't film scenes with him without talking to him, Sir. What shall I do?"_

Karl sniffed. "Figure something out."

Sean shook his head. "Look. I'm not Boromir, and Viggo, for all that he's gone mad from time to time, isn't Aragorn. Just let me talk to him on set without ripping the skin from my arse, and it'll be fine."

Karl laughed, shaking his head. "Fine. Fine. Boromir can talk to Aragorn all he damn well wants. Will that make you happy?"

Sean let out a relieved breath. "Thank you, Sir."

"You're fucking welcome. Now get over here and suck me."

"Too long," Boromir answers quietly. He looks at Strider's hands, still gripping his shoulders, and nudges them away; to be near another Man is one thing, but to have the Ranger's hands on him is a bit more than Boromir wants to contend with at the moment. "I am... glad for your offer, Strider, and would be grateful for your company tonight. The road here has been a long one, and war has taken my companions away one at a time for longer than I can remember. This stretch of the journey was only the last of it."

"Come, then." Strider inclines his head and begins loping off in the direction of the--

\--well, the parking lot. Sean fidgets for a moment; he really shouldn't walk off set with his costume, even if Viggo does it. But then, if the costume comes off, who is he? Sean or Boromir?

 _I'm a fucking actor,_ Sean decides. _It's not about the costume._

Boromir reaches out a hand and grips Strider's shoulder, halting him in his tracks. "A moment," he pleads. "The day is not yet finished, and I would see it done before I take my leave."

Strider half-turns, face in profile; his gaze is lowered, his eyelashes dark over his cheek. He's not looking back at Boromir, but he is at least acknowledging what Boromir has said. "I will wait," he murmurs.

Boromir squeezes Strider's shoulder roughly and nods. "I will need an hour, perhaps two. And then my company is yours for the night, if you still wish it."

"I will wish it."

Boromir nods. "You may join me, if you like, or you may wait for me where you will; I will find you when I'm done."

"I would prefer to join you." Strider does turn at that, and he lifts Boromir's hand off his shoulder and settles it in his own. "You have been long enough alone."

Boromir is struck speechless for several seconds. The blue of Strider's eyes is piercing in a way no Elf's eyes could ever be; there is something about being looked on by another Man that... Boromir does not know what to make of it. He does not know what that expression means, and, if he were to be honest, he would admit that he does not care. He only wants to be alone -- truly alone, without the fear of interruption -- to find out what those eyes are promising.

Boromir heads off to the trailers for makeup and costume, and he refuses to acknowledge the fracturing of his world; it is not the costume that marks him as the son of Denethor. The costumers are careful with the heavy velvet, and Boromir is suddenly, uncomfortably aware of Strider's eyes on him as the layers are drawn away.

The particular costume Strider is wearing does come off, as do the wigs they're wearing; Boromir averts his eyes, wondering if it's appropriate to see a new companion -- someone not yet even a friend -- so laid bare. He pulls the rough, simple clothes from his other life on, and cannot force himself to watch as Strider does the same; it is a relief when things are over and they can step outside.

Strider does not speak, but that is hardly new; Boromir reaches out for him, and then damns his hesitation and slings an arm around Strider's shoulder. "It is early yet," Boromir says, forcing a little more enthusiasm than he feels, "and I am ravenous. Shall we go?"

Strider looks up at Boromir with a very small, half-inward smile. "Yes," he murmurs. "It has been a long day, but the day is not yet done with us." He puts an answering arm around Boromir's waist. "Let us see where the evening takes us."


	8. New Ownership Clause

Sean has a great deal of difficulty holding on to his character when he gets into Viggo's -- Aragorn's -- Strider's car. He buckles his seat belt and fidgets a bit, trying to figure out how Boromir would manage something as strange as riding in a car with Strider. He closes his eyes, trying to sink into the skin of his character.

His posture straightens, and he exhales slowly through his nose. Sean is not allowed to go anywhere with Viggo. It has to be Boromir. Has to be.

"You look troubled," Strider murmurs.

Boromir nearly laughs. "Do I?" he asks.

"Mmm. If there is anything I might do to ease your discomfort..."

"Where are we going?" Boromir interrupts. He can't think about why he's uncomfortable. Strapped into this odd growling metal wagon, out of his usual garb -- of _course_ he's uncomfortable. The why of it is something that would shatter his tenuous grip on his headspace, so he simply pushes it aside.

"To your home," Strider says. Boromir glances over at him; Strider is not quite grinning, though it's close. "A drink. Quiet company. It seemed the right decision; should I have consulted you?"

"You will need to consult me on matters in the future," Boromir grumbles good-naturedly, "but I agree with your decision this once. You are decisive, my... companion." He stops short of saying _friend_ ; it seems presumptive to give Strider such a title when they've only just met.

"One learns to be decisive when one guards the lands few would dare to protect."

"Hrmf." Boromir shakes his head; he does not trust the rangers, particularly as he knows they could be of far more use to the army of Gondor than they are as independent protectors of the land. "And what of your time alone? What does one such as you do when spirits are heavy and the road ahead seems more than you can bear?"

Strider glances at Boromir again; it's a question he didn't expect Boromir to ask. "Careful," he urges. "You give away more than I think you intend with such questions."

Boromir goes silent for a while; the ride passes in relative peace. He looks out the window and feels dizzy; they're moving so quickly. He turns back to Strider. "You are protective of more than just your own ends," he says. "Is it so for all rangers, this desire to protect all those around you, or is it merely you?"

Strider shakes his head, smiling. "I do not know," he admits. "I know little of other rangers, and perhaps less of other Men."

"I know much of other Men," Boromir says, "and I have known none like you."

"Is that a compliment or simply an observation?" Strider turns the car into Boromir's -- Sean's -- fuck -- driveway. He stops the car and turns to Boromir, searching green eyes for an answer. Boromir shakes his head and steps out of the car, feeling himself relax a great deal now that he's in open air again.

Strider walks around the car and puts a hand on Boromir's shoulder. "There are many times I will not question your silence," he says, "but this is not one of them. I would know your thoughts, son of Denethor."

"My thoughts are my own," Boromir stammers, looking down at the ground between his feet. He pulls away from Strider's hand and walks to the front door, hands shaking as he pulls his keys from his pocket.

 _Eomer is going to kill us._

And that thought trips wires all over; Boromir frowns slightly and shakes his head. _It is none of Eomer's concern what I do with this ranger,_ Boromir thinks, and glances over his shoulder. "Come, then, if you would offer me your company."

Strider lopes to the door and walks inside; he ducks under Boromir's arm as Boromir holds the door open. Boromir closes and locks the door behind them, and watches as Strider goes to the front windows, glances through them, and closes the curtains with a quick, sharp motion. Boromir gives him a slightly amused grin. "Are we being watched?" he asks.

"One can never be too cautious." Strider walks back to Boromir; the room is dim, now, and he puts a hand over Boromir's before Boromir can turn the lights on. "I would offer you my company," he murmurs. "And more than that, if you would have it."

"Yes," Boromir whispers; there is no longer any question what Strider is doing here. He reaches forward and puts a hand at the side of Strider's neck, thumb across his jawline. "I will have it."

Strider holds still, barely breathing, as Boromir closes the distance between them. He closes his eyes when Boromir's mouth descends over his, and lets out a soft, nearly-whispered moan when Boromir's tongue slides against his with rough, demanding insistence.

"I will have you," Boromir whispers, licking gently at the corners of Strider's mouth.

" _Yes_ ," Strider returns. He leans forward, clutching at Boromir's arms; his hands tremble, and he steadies himself against the other Man, grateful for his nearness, his warmth, his strength.

"You are hungry for this," Boromir whispers in wonder. "Have you been long without the company of Men as well?"

"I have been among Men, but apart. I have been at the edges of their company, but always alone. Boromir. Please." Strider leans forward, nudging his nose against Boromir's. "Please."

"Come with me." Boromir pulls away, but fits his hand into Strider's, guiding him off to the bedchamber. The rooms are dark; it's easy to pretend this is the sort of place Boromir _should_ be staying. It doesn't even throw him when he has to turn on the lamp; he simply flicks it on and returns to Strider, hands going up to Strider's neck to cup his face in gentle, sword-roughened hands.

"We have much to offer one another," Strider murmurs. "I am grateful to have been brought to your side."

"I too am grateful," Boromir agrees, smiling now. "Though I do think, ranger, you are in too much clothing for what we intend here."

Strider's hands are quick; he tugs at shirt and jeans until he's bare, flushing under Boromir's scrutiny. It could simply be a matter of being offered this sort of pleasure for the first time in his recent memories; he'll tell Boromir that, if he must. He hopes it doesn't come to that; he knows the truth of his heart, and it could not be satisfied by any company offered him at random or taken at whim.

He is resolutely not thinking of the way real life and character are bleeding together to have drawn Strider into a love-at-first-sight situation; he is not thinking about the way Viggo's feelings for Sean blend with and cover Strider's feelings for Boromir. His character does not fracture; he is planted in the moment, and that's enough.

Boromir follows Strider's example and slides out of his clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. He grins and reaches out to cup Strider's cheeks in his hands again, and Strider covers Boromir's hands with his own. "You are more than I expected," Boromir murmurs. He gives a mirthful grin. " _More,_ " he emphasizes, and his eyes sparkle.

Strider laughs. "The men of Gondor are shallow in their affections," he teases. "What I _have_ I will give to you, if you wish it," he grins.

"And if I wish the opposite?" Boromir asks.

Strider's breath catches in his throat. "Then I offer that, and gladly," he breathes.

Boromir nods and climbs onto the bed, stretching out on his back. Strider glances around; there's a bottle of lube on the nightstand, and he takes it -- again, not thinking of the anachronism of such a thing -- and straddles Boromir's thighs. He grins down at Boromir and slicks his hand, drawing it over Boromir's shaft; the strokes are much more for pleasure than for preparation, and he delights in the honest, eager noises Boromir grants him. Boromir arches up under his touch, gasping, hands clutching at the bedcovers to either side of him, and throws his head back, panting, gasping, murmuring and nearly cursing in his delight.

"Oh, by all the stars," Boromir moans, "Strider, yes, I want you -- no more teasing -- let me have you."

"I do not tease," Strider smiles; he takes more lube, guiding his fingers into himself, and then comes forward, bracing one hand against Boromir's chest and using the other to guide Boromir inside him.

Boromir nearly comes off the bed at that; he arches up into Strider and grabs his hips, holding him still. " _Ahhh..._ "

"Yes," Strider smiles down at him, and he begins moving. The strokes are slow at first, and he puts his hands over Boromir's to feel the strength in those hands. Boromir's eyes widen at the feel of Strider moving on top of him, and he winds his fingers through Strider's, finally tugging both pairs of hands up and pulling Strider up to lie across his chest. Strider's hands come down hard on Boromir's, and for a moment Boromir looks startled; he relaxes under Strider's hands, then, and Strider grins. He pins Boromir's hands down at the wrists and rides him harder, faster, hips snapping sharply against Boromir's.

"You take too much," Boromir pants, struggling to arch up and control the pace.

"You long to be taken," Strider fires back, grinning all the way.

"Do not presume too much..."

"I presume nothing. Your body tells me all I need to know." Strider bends his head down and bites hard at Boromir's shoulder; Boromir throws his head back, gasping, and thrusts his hips up, groaning as he comes. Strider keeps rocking his hips as Boromir pulses inside him; when the look on Boromir's face turns pained and his noises offer more pain than pleasure, Strider comes to a halt on him.

"Strider," Boromir whispers. He struggles; his arms push against Strider's hands. "I have -- I have left you unsatisfied..."

"Not for long," Strider smirks. He lifts himself up and wraps his hand around his cock; grinding down hard against Boromir's hips, he strokes himself hard, roughly, the kind of stroke he uses when he's safe and free to move and moan as he pleases. In moments, he's coming, streaks falling over Boromir's stomach, groaning very softly. Boromir watches him in wonder and draws a hand up to Strider's face, brushing fingertips over his lips. Strider takes those fingertips into his mouth and sucks hard on them as he milks out the last of his come, humming with pleasure.

Boromir closes his eyes and draws fingers over his stomach, taking trails of Strider's come to his lips and licking it off his fingertips. Strider groans at the look of that -- " _bain_ " -- and lets out a long, slow breath. "Beautiful," he murmurs. He watches as Boromir cleans the come from his skin, slowly, as if they have all the time in the world, and then leans down to taste himself on Boromir's lips. He groans and rolls to the side, wrapping himself around Boromir and sighing.

" _Shit._ "

"Hush, Steward," Strider murmurs, but he knows he's not talking to Boromir any longer.

"Viggo -- stop. Snap out of it." Boromir's accent is gone; it's Sean again. "Christ. Do you know what we just did?"

"It was as we both wanted it," Strider whispers, holding tighter to his own dialect as his grip on the character begins to fracture. "Do not doubt this, Boromir, I beg of you."

"Jesus, Viggo, I -- we -- there wasn't even -- we didn't use a rubber," Sean stammers. "And Karl--"

Viggo rises up on one arm and shoves his hand over Sean's mouth. "Stop," he growls. "I knew what I was doing. So did you. The hell with Karl. You're _mine_."

Sean's eyes are terrified; Viggo glares down at him and draws his hand away, nodding at him, giving him permission to speak.

"Viggo, I agreed to--"

" _Mine,_ " Viggo growls again. "You belong to me. Not because you've agreed to it, and not because Karl gave you to me, but because you're _mine_. And you know it." He draws his hand over Sean's chest and rests it flat over Sean's heart. "You know it _here_."

"Yes," Sean breathes. "But Karl..."

"I'll deal with him when he comes back. You're mine, Sean." Viggo bends down and licks softly across Sean's lips; Sean leans up and kisses back with undisguised hunger. Viggo chuckles softly. "Mine, and you know it."

"Yours," Sean whispers. "Please, Viggo."

Viggo nuzzles against Sean's chest and nods. "I'm staying here tonight," he declares. "In the morning I'm going to claim you. If there's any doubt in your heart about belonging to me, sort through it as you dream. There's no going back from it once you're mine." He doesn't even know where these words are coming from; they _feel_ right. He's never owned anyone, has barely known what it's like to be owned himself, but he's absolutely certain about this; Sean is _his_. He curls around Sean and holds him down, not letting him move a muscle. "Mine," he breathes.

"God," Sean murmurs. "Yes." He sighs and sinks into Viggo's embrace, and all the doubts and worries about what Karl will do when he finds out about this disappear. He hums with satisfaction as he falls asleep.


	9. Claim

"Sean?"

The voice gets through Sean's sleep. He turns over and holds his breath. He blinks his eyes open.

Not a dream.

"Viggo."

It's enough. Viggo puts Sean on his back, pins his arms to the mattress. There are no words. There don't need to be. Every move Viggo makes is a claim on Sean; every response Sean gives is acceptance.

"Please," Sean whispers.

Viggo breaks away to take lube from the nightstand; Sean holds perfectly still and leaves his hands on the pillow, waiting.

"Mine until I let you go," Viggo murmurs.

"And when will that be...?"

Grinning. "Never."


	10. Homecoming

Karl is back in town. And the rumors hit him as soon as he gets off the plane.

"You know Sean and Viggo haven't stepped out of character once in the last week?" Craig asks, smirking. "They come to the set already talking in their accents. They snipe at each other as Aragorn and Boromir. Wonder if Aragorn son of Arathorn has laid claim to Boromir of Gondor yet."

"Fuck off, Craig." Karl's not in the mood. He wants a bath and a massage, and his boy and his whore. He gets his cell phone out and dials Viggo.

The phone rings three times before Craig starts chuckling. He tugs the bag off Karl's shoulder and wraps an arm around Karl's waist. "Offer's still open, of course."

Karl gets Viggo's voice mail and waits through Viggo's rambling message. "Boy, you'd better be dead or in jail. I'm back. Get your arse home." He snaps the phone off and glares up at Craig. "What's this shite about staying in character...?"

"Don't tell me you're _worried_ ," Craig grins. "Thought you had those boys of yours under control. Thought you didn't need a hand with them, because they were under your boots like you--"

Karl slams Craig up against the car door. "Enough fucking around, Craig. Just tell me what the fuck my boys have been doing while I've been gone."

"You've bitten off more than you could chew, mate," Craig says. He's perfectly calm; he doesn't seem to notice that Karl's hands are fisted in his shirt. "You didn't honestly think you could control both of them indefinitely, did you? Especially not when you had to leave them alone for a week."

"Who started it? This -- being in character all the time. Whose idea was it?"

"Fuck if I know. If I had to guess, I'd put money on Viggo -- he's like that all the time anyway. Can't tell where he starts and Aragorn ends."

Karl shoves Craig against the car again. "Bastard," he says. "You've been waiting for this, haven't you? Just waiting for it to fall apart on me so you could laugh."

"There's room in my home for you if you want a place next to David."

"Oh, who's looking to bite off more than he can chew now?"

"I don't chew," Craig grins. "I swallow things whole."

And just like that, Karl's hard; he'd have to be a fool not to hear what Craig is offering. It's not what he wants -- not half as good as it would be having Viggo fucking Sean while Karl takes Sean's mouth -- but it's an offer, and it's here now. He doesn't have to track it down.

"Get in the car," Karl growls.

"You're going to owe me one," Craig warns him. "You ready for that?"

"Get in the fucking car, Craig."

Craig raises his hands. "Whatever you say. For now." His eyes are glinting; Karl shakes his head, roughly, and walks around to the passenger door.

Craig doesn't waste time starting the engine or driving somewhere quiet. The car park is good enough, and if anyone's watching, they can go to hell. He leans over and tears at the front of Karl's jeans, unsnapping, unzipping, yanking Karl's fly open and pulling out his cock.

Karl's head slams back into the headrest; he closes his eyes and moans as Craig sucks him down. Craig has no real technique, no finesse. He doesn't have Viggo's intensity or Sean's practiced near-professionalism. But he wants Karl -- wants him badly, no roles, no rules, no limits, just him, right now -- and that in itself means something. Karl puts a hand on the back of Craig's neck and thrusts his hips up, feeling the scrape of Craig's teeth on him. Too much, not enough, and Craig is choking -- no, coughing -- no, _laughing_. Craig is _laughing_ , the bastard.

Karl growls and thrusts up harder; he doesn't give Craig any warning before he comes, thrusting up hard and growling in the back of his throat. Craig tries to pull away, and Karl holds him down. This time there's no question: Craig is choking on it. Choking hard, and for long enough that he actually starts to struggle, bringing his hands down to push against Karl's thighs.

"Want up?" Karl breathes. "Should I let you up?"

Craig manages a muffled grunt, but that's all.

"Don't fucking talk to me about my boys. I'll get them where I want them," Karl whispers. "Got it?"

He doesn't wait for Craig to answer; he grabs the back of Craig's neck and yanks him off his cock, with Craig choking and coughing and sputtering curses all the way. Craig drags the back of his hand across his mouth and glares over at Karl. "Fucker," he pants.

"You, too," Karl grins.

"You owe me fucking huge for that," Craig says. He starts up the car. "Fucking huge, mate."

"We'll see, won't we?" Karl closes his eyes. "Take me home, huh?"

"Yeah," Craig snorts. "Hope you got used to sleeping alone last week. Vig left the set with Sean in tow today. Don't think I've ever seen either of them look so happy."

"You're going to have to work harder than that to needle me," Karl says. He's tired, yeah, and he's not going to like sleeping alone, but he'll manage tonight. And tomorrow he's going to see his boys again.


	11. Steward's Honor

_"Boy, you'd better be dead or in jail. I'm back. Get your arse home."_

Viggo is standing in Sean's kitchen when he gets the voice mail; Sean comes up behind Viggo and wraps his arms around Viggo's waist. "What news, my Lord?" he murmurs.

"Karl's back."

Sean freezes, goes rigid against Viggo's back. "Fuck," he murmurs. He pulls away. "What now?"

Viggo catches Sean's wrist. "Nothing changes," he says. "You're mine, and that's the end of it."

"I had an agreement with Karl--"

"And I've broken it for you."

Sean looks away. "I have to go back to him. And so do you."

"You're not listening." Viggo tugs Sean up against his chest and pins his wrist behind his back; he catches Sean's other arm and pins it, too. "I've earned you. I've claimed you. You don't have a say in the matter now any more than you did when you were his."

Sean still can't meet Viggo's eyes. He nods, carefully, eyes focused on a spot on Viggo's shirt. The spot's yellow, where a drop of paint landed in Viggo's latest fury of creation.

"I'm going to see Karl. We'll have it out. We'll talk. You stay here tonight; I'll be back." Viggo leans forward and brushes his lips across Sean's forehead. "Sean?"

Sean buries his face in Viggo's shoulder and doesn't speak. He can't speak.

"Sean, talk to me." Viggo nudges Sean's head forward and tries to catch his eyes; Sean is still looking away. "Do you want to go back to Karl?" he asks quietly. "Is that what this is about, really?"

Sean shakes his head at that, but he still doesn't speak.

"Then what's the matter?"

Sean lets out a breath. He tries. He tries twice before giving up and shaking his head again; this time he finally looks back up at Viggo. His expression is nearly agonized; it's clear that going back to Karl is not what he wants, and not something he considers an option. Viggo releases Sean's arms, and trails his fingers down Sean's face.

"Is there any doubt in you that you're mine?"

Sean shakes his head hard.

"But you won't talk to me." Viggo raises his eyebrows slightly. "Could my steward talk to his King?"

"Yes, my Lord," Sean whispers, gratefully.

"Has my steward been trying to serve two masters?"

Sean closes his eyes for a moment. "My Lord, your steward has but one master, and he is grateful to serve, and will be so 'til the end of his days, if you will have him. It's the other I can't give. I made a promise. I can't simply break it. Would you even want me if I could?"

"It is not for you to say," Viggo responds; the blending of all his different roles has him drawing Sean closer, needing to feel Sean's skin against his. He nudges Sean's collar apart with his nose, undoing the top button with his teeth when the fabric refuses to give. "You are mine. It does not matter what he who was once our lord and master says on it. It does not matter what promises you have made to any others. I have broken these promises of yours, and I will stand the consequences in your place."

"I would not have you do such a thing," Sean gasps, shaking in Viggo's embrace. He tries to draw away; Viggo pulls him back. "Please, my Lord, I would not -- I cannot bear the idea of your--" Sean swallows and pushes back forcefully, looking Viggo in the eyes. "He would hurt you," Sean whispers, "and I would spill my life's blood before allowing that to happen."

Viggo's teeth are cruel, now, as they yank at buttons. "It is not for you to allow or refuse," he says, words coming out as a low growl in his throat. "You have sworn your loyalty to me; you are mine, and you have no say in such matters." He has enough skin showing, finally, and he presses his lips to Sean's chest. "How long have you wanted a master, steward?"

"I have not--"

Viggo draws back and puts his hands on Sean's shoulders; he shakes Sean once, hard. "You do not lie to your King," he growls, glaring. "How long have you wanted a master?"

Sean's eyes drop. "I have lived long without hope of one."

"You will answer me."

"Years." Sean looks up, and his eyes flash. "Years, Viggo. But I gave that up a long time ago, thinking I'd never find it. Karl saw that in me before you did, and I made him a promise. If I gave these promises easily, what would I be worth to you?"

"Why did you promise yourself to Karl?" Viggo asks. "What were you after? Is it enough just to have someone to obey, someone to kneel for?"

"He offered me you," Sean says. He shakes his head. "That was what I was after. He offered me you."

"Jesus." Viggo steps away. "You could have come to me. You could have come to me at any point, and I'd have taken you. Do you have any idea how long I've been watching you? How much I wanted you? Sean--"

"And you don't take a bit of it seriously, do you? You made promises to Karl yourself, or am I very much mistaken? Promises you're willing to break simply because someone new's come along?" Sean turns away, taking several steps away from Viggo, bracing his hands on the counter. "And how long will it be before you break promises you make to me? Before your claim on me means nothing to you? Who will you want next?"

Thunderstruck, Viggo can only follow, putting a tentative hand on Sean's shoulder. "It isn't like that."

Sean closes his eyes. "I want you," he murmurs. "I want your claim on me to mean something. I want you to go back to Karl and find a way to get both of us out of our agreements with him, and come back to me when you've done that. Until then, I'm his, and I can't--" Sean tugs forward. "I can't touch you. I can't speak to you."

Viggo wraps his arms around Sean's waist, unwilling to leave under those terms. "You spoke with the ranger well enough. You've pledged your loyalty to Gondor's king."

"Gondor has no--"

" _Silence._ " There is no question that Viggo is speaking with Aragorn's tongue; Sean snaps into silence instantly. "We continue as we have been," Aragorn continues. "You will follow the orders of your King, whether he lead you into battle, or respite, or folly."

Boromir's voice is soft in his throat. "Yes, my Lord."

"You will not turn away from me when I want the sight of your eyes."

"No, my Lord."

"You will kneel for me when I demand it. And the wishes of Eomer Eorlingas are none of your concern."

"...yes, my -- no, my -- it is as you demand, my Lord," Boromir finishes.

"I have much to demand of you, my steward, and much to discuss with the one who holds claim over the both of us. But never doubt where your ownership lies." Aragorn nips lightly at the back of Boromir's neck. "You are mine."

"Yes, my Lord," Boromir breathes.

"Whatever you must do in the service of your once-Lord, I will forgive." Aragorn rests his cheek against Boromir's shoulder. "But he will not have these claims on you for long. That much is certain."

"That much, I long for," Boromir says. "Would my Lord consent to take me before he goes?"

"Is that how one asks a favor of his King?" Aragorn asks, but his tone is teasing. Boromir smiles, for the first time in recent memory, and turns slowly in Aragorn's arms, then takes to his knees. He looks up as Aragorn trails his fingers over Boromir's face, as if he is memorizing the contours, the angles, the planes. Boromir's eyes close, and Aragorn traces his eyelids.

"My Lord, your steward begs you to take him before you go."

"I will take you." Aragorn cups his hand under Boromir's chin and tugs gently. "On your feet."

Boromir comes to his feet, opening his eyes as he stands. "Yes, my Lord. Where does my Lord want me?"

"Here." Aragorn turns Boromir around to face the counter, all gentleness gone. He yanks down Boromir's trousers, getting them around his knees, and then does the same for himself; he reaches into the counter for the nearest serviceable lube. Almond oil will do; he gets it open and pours it over his hand, sliding fingers into Boromir's cleft and savoring the soft noises his steward makes as Aragorn takes his time with the preparation.

"Please," Boromir whispers. "Please take me."

"I could make you come this way, if I wanted." Aragorn rubs his fingers against the spot that has Boromir seeing stars, clenching his fists against the counter. "We know it, the both of us, and you'd thank me for it after."

"You could," Boromir moans. "But I need you. Please."

"It's not for you to say." Aragorn's strokes against that spot are certain, steady, unrelenting. "You will learn that, given time."

"Please... I am sorry, my Lord."

"You will learn a great many things in your service to me." Aragorn chuckles. "But I have no wish to wait, either." And he slicks his heavy, waiting erection with the rest of the oil, and then presses steadily into Boromir, moaning quietly against the side of Boromir's neck.

"Yes -- oh -- please -- please, Aragorn..."

"How does my name taste on your lips, Boromir?" Aragorn's own lips are tasting the hint of sweat on Boromir's skin; he drags his teeth down the side of Boromir's neck.

"Like thunder," Boromir gasps. "Like rain after a thunderstorm."

"Like thunder," Aragorn repeats. He wraps his arms around Boromir's chest and thrusts in harder. "I like that."

"I love you."

Aragorn's head drops, and his rhythm stutters. "I know," he whispers.

"I lo--"

One of Aragorn's hands comes up to silence Boromir; he puts his fingers across Boromir's lips and closes his eyes. "It will keep," he says. "Let it keep for now."

Boromir nods and lets his head drop back on Aragorn's shoulder. Aragorn pushes forward once, then again, and finally loses himself to the ecstasy; he comes, pulsing hard inside his lover, moaning softly.

Afterwards, Boromir trembles, breathing coming out fast and sharp. Aragorn keeps his hand across Boromir's lips but drops his other hand to Boromir's cock, and gives it several steady strokes as he rocks gently inside him. "Come for me," he breathes, "and know you're _mine_."

Boromir lets out a soft, startled grunt, muffled by Aragorn's hand, and arches forward, body jerking, weight resting hard against Aragorn's chest. He pants several times, hard, for breath, and his breath rushes out against Aragorn's fingers. Aragorn presses a soft kiss to the side of Boromir's jaw. "Yes," he whispers. "So good for me."

He lets Boromir go, then, and helps him keep his footing as Aragorn pulls out and looks to clean up. Boromir rests heavily against the counter, and when he's regained his footing and his breath, turns around to look at Aragorn.

"I would have given you more words," Boromir murmurs.

"I want those words from the man behind your eyes," Aragorn says roughly, and Viggo doesn't know whether it's Aragorn or himself talking. Sean's eyes go dark at the words, anyway, and Viggo turns away in frustration.

"The man behind my eyes will give them, and gladly, when he is free to love who he will."

"Then I'd better go, hadn't I?" And it's Viggo again. "Because I can't just have Boromir, Sean. I want _all_ of you. No limits. No boundaries. I want _you_."

Sean reaches for him, taking his shoulders in his hands, and he rests his cheek on Viggo's shoulder. His breath hisses out slowly between his teeth, and then he nods, silent all over again.

Viggo could turn before he leaves. He could look into Sean's eyes and see all the things Sean can't give himself permission to say. He could, but then he'd never be able to make himself leave. And getting those things Sean wants to give him means leaving first.

Sean isn't surprised when Viggo doesn't turn around. He isn't surprised when Viggo doesn't say anything else. Still, it aches, and he stays in his kitchen, resting against his counter, for a very long time before he can make himself move.


	12. Finding The Way Out

Karl is sitting at his dining room table, smoking in the dark, when Viggo comes in. Viggo has to track him down using his sense of smell, his sense of hearing. It is, in many respects, like being a ranger, and when he spots the amber glow of the cigarette, part of him is tempted to drop to the ground and stalk.

"Sit down," Karl orders. He taps ash off his cigarette and gestures at the chair across from him. Viggo doesn't say a word as he takes his seat.

"Don't think I have to ask how your week was," Karl continues. "I hear you've been in character since I left. Hell of a loophole, _Aragorn_."

"You don't want us taking loopholes, maybe you shouldn't tie your boys up in knots." Viggo leans across the table and slides a cigarette out of Karl's pack; Karl hands over his lighter, and Viggo lights the cigarette, taking a long, deep drag. "You know what I'm here to say, don't you?"

"If you think I'm just going to let you both go--"

"That's exactly what I think," Viggo says evenly. His eyes meet Karl's. "You're a hell of a good fuck, Karl, and it was fun belonging to you, but I want Sean, and right now you're in the way."

"Cards on the table, huh? OK." Karl nods back. "You're free to go anytime. You were pretty damn good yourself, and it was fun owning you, but Sean's worth half a dozen of you." He puts his cigarette down. "He's still mine, and he still knows it."

There are three sharp sounds in the room -- Viggo's chair being pushed away hard, a loud impact as Karl hits the floor, a startled grunt from Karl as he finds himself flat on his back with Viggo's hand wrapped around his throat. Viggo's eyes flash. "You let him go," he growls.

"Oh, you _are_ going to be good at this." Karl arches an eyebrow. Viggo's not holding him down hard enough to choke him, not hard enough to take his breath away. It's just enough to pin him down, and Karl goes boneless, not fighting at all. "But you're going to have to pick out someone else."

"Stop." Viggo eases his grip, and lets Karl sit up. "You don't give a damn about him; you just don't want to lose this one. There's no call for that. These are lives, Karl, not games. He's going with me one way or the other. What I'm asking you for -- and I'm _asking_ , Karl -- is not to hurt him before he gets there. You don't need to do that to him. To either of us."

Karl doesn't speak. He doesn't meet Viggo's eyes. Viggo turns around and sets his chair back up, and sits down in it, watching Karl.

"Talk to Craig," Karl says, finally.

Viggo raises an eyebrow. Karl looks up at him and doesn't elaborate. He shrugs and climbs to his feet, taking his cigarette out of the ashtray. Viggo can tell that no more answers are coming; he nods, and gets up, and leaves Karl's house.

* * * * *

The door swings open, and Craig's wearing a big shit-eating grin. "Viggo," he says. "Long time no see. Thought you'd be dropping by sooner or later."

"Yeah?" Viggo draws Craig into a friendly hug and slaps him on the shoulder. "Hasn't been that long, has it?"

"Come in," Craig says, guiding Viggo into his house. "How've you been?"

"Good, then bad, and I'm not sure yet about today. You?"

"Good overall. I picked Karl up from the airport yesterday."

Viggo tilts his head; after Craig settles into the sofa, Viggo decides to take a spot on the floor, crossing his legs. As usual, he's barefoot, and he wraps his elbows around his knees, locking his fingers together.

"How's Sean?" Craig asks.

Viggo simply looks at him, not moving out of position.

"How's Karl?" The left corner of Viggo's mouth tugs into a wry grin, and Craig laughs. "Yeah, I thought so," Craig says. "So what brings you to my doorstep?"

"Karl suggested I talk to you."

The look of absolute shock on Craig's face would be comical if Viggo were in a mood to laugh. Craig blinks several times and then shakes his head, grinning again. "Did he," he says.

"Mm."

"Did he say about what?"

"No."

"Well, there are a number of possibilities, then." The tip of Craig's tongue traces a line against his teeth. "He could have meant to suggest you could take topping lessons from me."

Viggo snorts. "I think I'm doing fine in that arena, thank you."

"Or he could be curious about what Sean and David would look like together. You'd have to run that by me, too."

"Mm. That _would_ be pretty." Viggo grins a bit. "But no. That's not it, either."

"Can't imagine what, then... _hm_. Unless he's referring to -- but no, that's not like him. I don't know why he'd want you to know about that, and anyway, I don't know why he'd think I'd tell you."

"Craig?" Viggo's eyes are steady; his voice is even. "Quit dicking around and tell me what I came here to find out."

"I told him he wasn't going to be able to hang on to both of you." Craig can't seem to stop smiling. _Smirking._ He leans forward. "He's not going to have either of you by the time he's done, is he?"

"No," Viggo murmurs. "Tell me."

"I told you I picked him up at the airport -- you probably knew that anyway -- but I'm assuming he didn't tell you he let me suck him off before we even got out of the garage?"

Viggo mulls that over; he doesn't know why it's important, but it's definitely what he came here for. His eyes drop to the floor, and his attention is drawn again when Craig puts a warm hand behind his neck. He looks up at Craig; Craig's expression is even, serious -- the smirk has gone. Craig brings his other hand up and brushes his thumb over Viggo's lips, then cups Viggo's jaw in his hand and simply looks at him for several seconds.

"I can see why he tried," Craig offers. "Ambition's one of his weaknesses. And strengths."

He leans down, then, and gifts Viggo with a brush of lips. Viggo's eyes close, and Craig takes a second kiss, tongue questing against Viggo's lips, asking permission. Viggo lets his mouth open, and glides his tongue against Craig's when it comes in, feeling the dance of Craig's mouth, the easy way Craig leads. Viggo shudders, and as soon as Craig feels it, he lets Viggo go, trailing his thumb across Viggo's lips one last time.

"Go find your boy," Craig murmurs; his voice is thicker than usual. "I think you've got yourselves an out, Elessar."

"Thank you," Viggo whispers. He comes to his feet, a bit unsteadily, but doesn't glance back over his shoulder before he leaves.


	13. All's Well That Ends Well

Viggo shouldn't have to knock on Sean's door, but it seems polite for once. He raps his knuckles against the wood of the screen door and then takes a step back, waiting for Sean to answer.

Sean gets the door open and hesitates. He doesn't say anything until Viggo pulls the screen door open and puts a hand on Sean's chest, backing him inside.

"I need to talk to you. _You,_ not Boromir. You don't have to speak. Just nod or shake your head."

Sean's eyes narrow, but he nods. He turns around and walks into the kitchen, tugging the refrigerator door open and pulling out a beer, which he offers to Viggo. Viggo shakes his head, and Sean pops the cap off before taking a long swallow. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the refrigerator.

"You had arrangements with Karl that had nothing to do with me. Yeah?"

Sean nods.

"Was there a way out for you apart from having him let you go?"

Sean begins to shake his head, then stops. He frowns over at Viggo and shrugs.

"Was there something he agreed to as a condition of having you?"

Sean nods at that, once, firmly.

"Did you know he let Craig suck him off when Craig picked him up from the airport?"

"Oh, Christ." The relief in Sean's face is so obvious it makes Viggo grin at first, but then Sean's putting his beer down and launching himself at Viggo. Viggo barely has time to plant his feet before his arms are full of Sean; Sean's face is tucked into Viggo's shoulder, and Viggo threads his fingers into Sean's hair. "I told him just the three of us or I was out."

"You're out," Viggo murmurs.

"I know." Sean nods, inhaling and tightening his arms around Viggo's chest. "Christ, Viggo. Now what?"

"You tell me." Viggo pulls away and rests his hands on Sean's shoulders. "I'm still very fucking new at this. I just know I want you under me. I want to come home and have you kneel at my feet. I want what Karl could have had if he'd known what the fuck to do with it." Viggo brushes his thumb over Sean's lips. "I want to give you what you want out of all this, and I need to know what that is."

"Own me. Hurt me. Love me." Sean shudders and takes Viggo's hand, then turns his lips into Viggo's palm and leaves a kiss there. "Care for me. I don't want to be the whore you toy with when you want someone to fuck."

"Sean," Viggo murmurs. "I love you." His grip on Sean's shoulder tightens. "You gave me those words once as Boromir. I want them from you now."

"I love you," Sean breathes.

"God." Viggo leans forward and presses his lips to Sean's forehead. "Yes."

There's an overwhelming sense of _rightness_ that floods both of them when Viggo pushes Sean back to the bedroom. Viggo's hands aren't gentle, and Sean's responses are colored with pain, but it's what they both need. It's where they should have been all along, and now it's theirs.

Sean rests in the curve of Viggo's arm after the first fevered claiming, and Viggo watches the rise and fall of Sean's chest as Sean catches his breath. "I love you," Viggo murmurs.

"I love you, Viggo." Sean presses his lips to the center of Viggo's chest. "I love you, ranger." He leaves a bite beside the kiss and flicks his tongue out over it. "I love you, my King." Another soft kiss, and Sean presses his face to Viggo's chest.

Viggo's hand comes up and cups the back of Sean's neck. "We don't have to play it that way anymore, you know."

"My King, I know, but your steward hopes his devotion still finds favor in his king's eyes," Sean murmurs.

Viggo can feel the grin stretched across Sean's face; he meets it for a moment before assuming a more serious look and levering Sean onto his back. "My steward's devotion will always please me," he answers, Aragorn voice firmly in place. "My steward is expected to pledge his loyalty and swear fealty when the time comes and I ask for it."

"You have earned it," Sean -- _Boromir_ \-- answers, eyes bright. "I would follow you, with pride and with pleasure, through trials better or worse than the ones we've seen so far."

"I would take you," Aragorn whispers. "You are mine, son of Denethor. Always."

"Always," Boromir agrees. Aragorn can't help smiling; the look in Boromir's eyes is guileless and well beyond eager. He presses gentle lips to Boromir's and holds him close.

* * * * *

Sean isn't moving quite as fast as he normally does; Karl can tell something's off. Viggo looks like the cat who got the canary. Karl shakes his head and holds his hand up, waving to Sean. On a good day, Sean would have jogged over; today, it looks like it's all Sean can do to keep from limping.

Karl wraps an arm around Sean's shoulders, and Sean hisses but leans into the touch. He winds his own arm around Karl's waist. "Morning," Karl grins. "You look sore today. Did he give you more than usual?"

"Only twenty," Sean admits, glancing up at Karl with a smug little grin of his own. "And his fist."

"Can I ask you something?" Karl asks. "And I want a serious answer. Just from Sean. All right?"

"Of course." Sean straightens a little and tightens his grip on Karl. "What's that?"

"Are you happy with him?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Karl, _yeah_." Sean hesitates and tilts his head a bit, trying to figure out what, precisely, he wants to ask. "You're not sorry?"

"I think Craig had a point," Karl admits. "I wanted too much." He pulls his arm away from Sean's shoulders and stops walking, catching Sean by the arm. "You tell Craig I said any of that, and I'll have your ass in a sling."

"You put my boy in a sling and I might very well let you have his ass," Viggo murmurs from behind Karl. Karl jumps, and Viggo wraps both arms around Karl's waist. "How fares Éomer Éomund-son?"

"Crazy fuck," Karl says, not without affection. "I'm all right, Vig."

"Good," Viggo purrs. "You busy tonight?"

Sean steps closer and drops his arms over Karl's shoulders, over Viggo's, lacing his fingers together behind Viggo's neck. "Make it worth your while," Sean says.

Karl blinks. "Yeah?" he asks softly.

"Hard to bear a grudge when you get the happy ending," Viggo whispers. "Come spend the night with us. I'll fuck you into my boy..."

Sean lets out a soft groan of approval and presses the front of his body more firmly against Karl's; Viggo moves his arms and settles his hands on Sean's hips. Sean shifts his hips, and Karl tilts his head back, resting it on Viggo's shoulder. "Please," Sean whispers; he comes forward and presses his lips to Karl's ear. Karl feels the whisper of movement as Viggo kisses Sean, and shudders, hard, against both of them.

It's a pretty thought. It's a very pretty thought. And hell, so what if it doesn't last forever?

Karl grins. It's a smug grin.

"Oh, yeah," he says; his voice is almost more growl than words. "You're on."


	14. Predator

"Eric, this is Karl. Karl, Eric."

Karl's eyes are narrowed and his grin is wide as he takes in the beautiful, bashful, grinning boy Sean's just introduced him to. "Good to meet you, Eric," he grins. "How long are you in Los Angeles?"

"Oh, um, a couple weeks, visiting Sean," Eric says. He gives Karl a grin and a half, and then struggles to get his expression to a point where it's not quite so puppy-dog eager.

And Karl thinks, _Oh, you have no idea, boy. No idea at all._

Sean and Viggo are practically married by this point, and Karl's been getting shafted. Or rather, not shafted at all, which is frustrating since it's not as if he came all the way out from New Zealand just to watch football with Sean. He was expecting threesomes, roleplaying, the kind of hot kinky sex he spent that whole trip to Japan having with Viggo; he was expecting wrestling, bruises, the kind of rough demanding sex he spent parts of the shoot having with Sean. He was _not_ expecting to be ignored while Sean and Viggo hung all over each other.

But fine, fine. There are other fish in the ocean. This one, this Eric boy -- he looks good. He looks _very_ good, standing there as if he wants to say something and doesn't quite know how to do it. Karl's been around enough shy queer boys to know exactly what that look in his eyes means. It means _hey, nice to meet you -- you top, right? -- want to bend me over the nearest piece of furniture?_

And the way Karl's looking at him is saying _Oh, yeah. Yeah, Eric, I do._

Eric, for his part, really likes the way Karl is looking at him. It's hard to believe Karl is four years _younger_ than Eric, because Karl has this intense, focused look about him that says he's been around the block. Probably a lot more than Eric has, really. And that intense look is all for Eric right now, which makes Eric feel like squirming and turning interesting shades of red.

It takes Karl about thirty seconds to make up a good excuse for Eric to join him in the guest room he's been sleeping in here in Viggo's house. The excuse is something pathetic like _Hey, Eric, want to see my etchings?_ , but at least Eric picked up on it immediately -- _Oh, etchings, I love etchings._

So now they're in Karl's room, and the door is shut, and Karl is standing in front of it, blocking off Eric's escape route. Not that Eric is looking to escape, of course. Far from it; he's trying to figure out what to do, how to make the first move, if he _should_ make the first move.

"So, ah..." he begins. "Am I here for the reason I think I'm here?" He attempts a smile, hoping his meaning is clear enough.

"Let's find out," Karl says, easily, smoothly. "Get your clothes off."

Eric gives Karl another one of those bashful little grins, but he doesn't protest. He drops his eyes and starts tugging off his clothing, kicking off his sneakers, getting harder and harder as Karl stands there, perfectly still, hands behind his back, leaning against the door. It's so interesting having someone watching him like that, like he's the main attraction of some big porny entertainment event. Part of him is maybe the slightest bit embarrassed; the rest of him is turned on like mad.

"What about you, then?" Eric asks, grinning, trying not to lower his eyes. "You going to get your clothes off, too?"

"Not this time," Karl grins. Eric's face falls a little. "I want to watch you get yourself off for me," Karl continues.

"Shit, you're kinky," Eric blurts, laughing.

And again, Karl's thinking, _You have no idea. No idea._

"Not interested?" Karl asks.

Eric's still trying hard to keep his eyes on Karl's. "No, I mean yeah, I'm interested... should I, um, sit down first?"

"Unless you can do it standing up," Karl says, eyebrow cocked a bit, smirking.

Standing up. There's a wrench in the gears. Eric shrugs a little and then decides he can rise to the occasion, so to speak. If Karl wants a show, then fine... he'll get a show.

Eric slides his hand down his chest and then slips it around his cock, grinning, eyes locked on Karl's. Karl's eyes flick away from Eric's to settle on his cock, watching Eric's hand move on his cock, watching Eric touching himself. Eric's hand moves in a fast, deliberate motion, and his face softens, his eyes close, his body goes still but not rigid as he starts really getting into this.

Karl finally comes off the door, going to his knees in front of Eric. Eric tries not to look startled, but doesn't quite manage it. Karl keeps his fingers laced behind his back and says, voice very low, "I want you to come on my face, Eric. Jerk off straight onto my face. Let me feel it. Come on..."

And the wickedness, the sheer perversity of the request gets to Eric in a beautiful, visceral way, and he does; he closes his eyes and comes, hand working and squeezing and feeling his cock jerk as his come jets out in hot white streaks over Karl's face, Karl's eyes closing with it, Karl's tongue flicking out to taste it...

Eric grunts, winded, whimpering, and has to take a step back to sit down on the bed before he falls clear on his ass. Karl grins and sweeps a finger over his cheek, wiping up come and licking it off his fingertip, grinning.

"Fucking pervert," Eric gasps, sounding impressed and interested.

"You don't know the half of it," Karl grins, coming up off the floor and leaning over Eric. "Do you want to?"

Something in Eric's gut twists at that, and he thinks maybe he should say _no_.

"Yeah," he mutters, watching Karl lick up more of his come, watching the motions of Karl's fingers and his lips, "yeah, I want to."

And Karl grins.

 _This one is going to be so much fun._


End file.
